


Just Another Day at the Park

by rougewinter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougewinter/pseuds/rougewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time John and Sherlock met was in a park. A response to this <a href="http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/2489386.html?thread=27612202#t27612202">picture prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day at the Park

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [alphera](http://alphera.livejournal.com/) for the beta work.
> 
> Toby is a bloodhound in this, instead of a spaniel-lurcher mix.

“Damn.” 

John mumbled under his breath as he carefully limped his way after the bloodhound. He hadn’t even taken a minute to bend down to tie his shoelace when that blasted canine approached him. At first it looked harmless in its curiosity, sniffing John as it tilted its head to one side. John gave the dog a light smile before he turned his attention down to his laces. That was when the dog took off in a dead run, John’s cane firmly trapped in its maw. 

When John had finally caught up with the hound, it was across the lake and over a mound from where they had started, sitting down on a patchwork blanket beside a dark, curly haired individual. John’s cane had fallen out of the dog’s jaws and was resting innocently between the pet and whom John presumed to be the bloodhound’s owner. He made his way over slowly while he worked on evening out his laboured breathing 

“What’s this, Toby?” He heard the other man ask his dog as John approached them. “Been up to no good again, have you boy?” The dog gave a bark and seemed to mirror the other man’s smile, as if sharing a joke with his owner. 

When he noticed John’s presence, the owner quickly sat up from where he was propped up on one elbow, giving John a sweet, apologetic smile. 

“Ah, this must be yours then.” John noticed the wedding band on the man’s finger as the owner gave his cane back to him. 

“Sorry for the trouble. Toby can be a bit of a handful, but he means well.” The man said, and as if understanding that he had done something wrong, Toby gave a soft whimper in apology and tried to hide his face under a front paw 

“It’s quite alright.” John said as his anger quickly left him. He had been prepared to chastise the owner for letting his dog run around without a leash in such a large park, but both pet and owner understood what they’ve done. John didn’t have it in him to give them a dressing down when they both seemed sincerely sorry. 

The other man gave him a relaxed smile and the dog by John’s heels gave a happy bark in response, somehow knowing he was off the hook. Toby then started to nudge at John’s shins, the backs of his knees or wherever he could reach as he tried to get John to lose his balance. 

“Oi! Stop.” John tried to angle away, a hand reaching down to redirect the dog’s head as Toby attempted to butt him towards a certain direction. 

“I think he’s trying to get you to sit down.” The owner said with an amused smile, patting the blanket beside him as he offered to share the space. “You must be tired. Have a seat. In fact, have a biscuit. Name’s Sherlock Hudson.” 

John settled himself down onto the soft fabric, stretching his right leg out to let his knee work out the kinks. “John Watson,” he answered, before accepting a biscuit.

“Mr. Hudson - ” John started.

“Sherlock, please.” The darker haired individual interjected as he reached for a tattered tennis ball, throwing it in a random direction as they both watched Toby happily scamper after it.

“Alright. Sherlock.” John said, after he’d taken another bite out of the biscuit. “I must say these are delicious. Did your wife make them?” 

Sherlock answered with a hum that John took as confirmation. 

“You must be very lucky then.” John continued as he took a final satisfying bite of his biscuit. Toby had returned by then, happily clutching the ball in his mouth as he trotted back. He deposited the chewed up yellow ball onto John’s lap, tail wagging as he waited for John to play with him. The older man obliged by chucking the ball in a different direction, earning him a lively yip as Toby ran after his toy. 

“He’s taken a liking to you.” Sherlock said as he passed the container still filled with biscuits and offering John to take another.

“Oh, I couldn’t.” John tried to respectfully decline. 

“It’s alright.” Sherlock urged. “There’s more where that came from. Plus, you’re clearly enjoying it more than I am.” 

“You don’t want any?” John asked; a little surprised that a husband would turn down his wife’s baked goods, especially since it really was quite scrumptious.

“Not right now. No, really. It’s quite alright.” Sherlock said with a reassuring smile. Who was John to say no to such a kind gesture? 

“So John,” Sherlock began once silence descended upon the pair. 

“Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?” 

\--

To say that John was surprised to find out that Sherlock had such a sharp and observant mind was an understatement. He was completely bowled over by how easy it was for Sherlock to know so much about a person just by how they look and move. Once Sherlock explained how he knew John was in military service as an army doctor and deduced the lives and habits of a few more passersby for John’s amusement, they hit it off surprisingly well. 

It soon became habit that the few times a week John would pass by the park on his way back from his therapist’s office (“a complete waste of money,” according to Sherlock, “because she’s _clearly_ not helping you cope with civilian life, blog be damned.”), he would spend the afternoon seated either on the grass or on a vacated park bench beside Sherlock, tossing a ball or Frisbee around for Toby to chase after excitedly. They talked about an assortment of things, but their topics mostly centered on how ridiculous John’s therapist was (her sheer inability to cure something as simple as a psychosomatic limp was astounding), and of course, Sherlock’s revelation of the secrets kept by those who walk through the park. 

John had also wondered what Sherlock did for a living, and true to form, one day Sherlock answered him before he could even voice the question.

“Writer. I write mystery novels.” 

Today they were sitting on a bench, Toby playing with another dog he had befriended off in the distance while Sherlock, who curiously never had any writing materials with him even though he claimed to be constantly thinking of a new story to write, watched people pass with avid interest, grey-blue eyes darting quickly back and forth as he no doubt took stock of each individual. Probably for character references, John figured. Sherlock’s single-minded focus on the task was so intense that John didn’t bother striking up a conversation, choosing to read the paper instead until he noticed a particularly disturbing article that might interest his novelist friend. 

“Have you heard the news?” John started with a frown. “about those young girls being molested and killed in this park the past couple of weeks?” 

Sherlock only replied with a soft ‘hmm’, hands clasped as if in prayer – a position that John has come to associate as the ‘Sherlock in deep thought’ pose. 

“It says here that the police don’t have specific leads yet,” John continued on reading the article. “but are advising women to remain vigilant and aware of their surroundings so as not to give the attacker a chance to catch them off-guard.”

John set his paper aside before he continued, musing aloud. “Odd. I wonder why the Met hasn’t set up surveillance in the area.” 

“The main problem is that the victims were abducted at random times and at random areas in the park.” Sherlock replied, never once drawing his attention away from his task of people-watching. “The police can only guess at where the killer will strike next, as they have neither the manpower nor technological resources to keep a 24-hour watch on all areas. Plus, I believe some people may construe that as an invasion of privacy.” 

“True.” John said, picking up another section of the paper. “But haven’t they at least figured out how the killer chooses his victims or how he catches them off-guard? At the very least, the general populace would have a better idea of how to get the painted bulls-eye off their back.” 

Sherlock didn’t say anything in response, choosing to refocus his full attention on the people. 

“Well, I don’t know about them.” John said after a lull in their conversation as two joggers passed by, iPods plugged into their ears and a steady pace was shared between the pair. “But I don’t think I can jog around without a water bottle strapped onto my person. Don’t they get thirsty mid-run?” 

“Oh.” 

John turned to his companion when he heard the soft gasp from his side. 

“OH!” The good doctor looked up as Sherlock bolted from the chair, hands clenched in his dark locks as he shook his head. “Stupid, stupid! It’s so obvious! 

“John!” John now found himself to be the center of Sherlock’s attention as the writer twirled to face him, his long hands clapping excitedly on John’s shoulders, making him jump a little at the unexpected contact. 

“You’re absolutely brilliant!” Just as quickly as Sherlock had focused on John, he was turning away, calling out for Toby and running in the direction of the park’s exit without waiting for the dog to catch up. Not that it mattered as Toby, smart as ever, was fast on his master’s heels. 

John watched the odd, yet evenly matched pair dash through the park and disappear over a hill. With a shrug, John went back to his paper, figuring Sherlock must have gotten inspiration for his next book and that the writer needed to get it on paper immediately. 

\--

John cursed his sister for perhaps the hundredth time that evening as he made his way through the dimly lit park. Trust Harry to ring him up asking for help to move some more of Clara’s things out of their flat, only to turn it into an angry, drunken (at least on Harry’s part) argument which later led to John feeling more frustrated than he had in weeks. He’d forgotten how badly he and Harry clashed; perhaps the easy way he’d gotten along with Sherlock made him start to expect that his other relationships would run as equally smooth.

‘That’s certainly saying something.’ John thought as he limped through the park. ‘That my relationship with a stranger is better than with my only living relative’s. God, I’m messed in the head! Though to be fair, Sherlock isn’t really that much of a strange-.’

A piercing shriek halted John’s train of thought, sharp and jagged against the serene environment. A series of loud barks picked up where the shriek left off, and before John could think twice about his actions, he ran quickly towards the source.

‘God, I really must be messed in the head. Don’t people usually run _away_ from trouble?’

\--

“Stay back.” The attacker said, an arm around a scared female jogger (no older than 25, Sherlock deduced) and the other hand holding a switchblade dangerously against her neck. 

“Take one more step Mr. Holmes and I’ll slice her clean through.” The suspect pressed the blade harder against the pale, soft skin of the female’s neck, a silent promise that he would push through with his threat if Sherlock even so much as moved an inch forward. The woman in his arms, although scared, kept a fairly even head about her. She was trembling slightly but there was a sense of determination in her eyes that warned she was not going down without a fight. Her fingers were tight against her assailant’s arms in an attempt to dig her nails into his skin but so far the murderer, perhaps running high on adrenalin, seemed not to notice.

“Shut your dog up!” The dangerous man demanded as Toby kept barking at him across the short distance. Clearly, the man was starting to panic; worried that Toby would bring unwanted attention 

“He’s a _dog_ , Mr. Phillips. As smart as he is, I can’t very well make him stop just by telling him to.” 

“Yeah! Well, smart guy like you can figure out a way to make him stop – that is, if you don’t want this pretty little thing cut up, Mr. Holmes.” 

Turns out Sherlock didn’t need Toby to settle down at all. A shadow suddenly appeared behind the assailant, drawing his attention away from the consulting detective – a mistake on Phillips’ part. The killer had turned around to face the new threat, completely forgetting how deadly turning his back on Sherlock and Toby could be. 

Toby had reached Phillips first, his sharp teeth biting into the man’s tender thigh causing Phillips to scream and instinctively release his hostage to swipe at the dog – his second mistake of the evening. Just as he was about to bring the blade down onto Toby, a hand shot out and twisted Phillips’ entire arm backwards, forcing him to drop the blade onto the grass, the rest of his body following thereafter. It was over in seconds. Phillips lay on the ground, one arm curved behind him at an odd, uncomfortable angle while a well-placed knee on his lower back kept him firmly in place. Toby had only released his hold on the suspect when it seemed like John had the other man thoroughly incapacitated. 

Sherlock had to admit he was a tad disappointed that all the action was over before he could even reach the murderer. 

“We should call the police.” Sherlock said “Don’t suppose you have a mobile with you?” The jogger shook her head, saying she never carried one during her runs. 

“Here,” John used a free hand to reach into his own pocket and fished out his mobile, offering it up readily. “Use mine.” Phillips had tried, futilely, to break out of the hold at the opportunity but John quickly reminded him, with a firm tug, that he was going nowhere until the authorities arrived. 

\--

John stood to the side of the scene, watching the blue and white lights from the response vehicles flicker and swirl against the dark green backdrop of the park. He watched on as Sherlock talked to the man John assumed to be the Detective Inspector for the case, no doubt repeating with his curt, precise words and movements what he explained to John not moments before, as they waited for the cavalry to arrive. 

“Water fountains.” Sherlock said as John kept a secure grip on the assailant. “That’s how he caught his victims unawares. As the victims bent over to drink, back to the bushes and blind to him, he had the ample opportunity to surprise them. I didn’t understand his pattern at first since he made his victims walk away from the fountains in an effort to confuse us; however, all the locations were more or less within a 500 metre-radius of a drinking fountain, and once you realized that, it’s easier to predict his movements. He hunted at relatively secluded areas, with just the right distance from the park gates that the chances of a thirsty passerby would be reasonably high, it was only a matter of finding the best spot and waiting for him to make the first move.” 

The self-contempt for not catching on quicker was now gone from Sherlock’s demeanour. He spoke with a confidence that wasn’t present a few minutes ago, all to protect his image of infallibility, John thought with a quirk of his lips. It wouldn’t do for the Met to think they were working with an amateur. 

When that was done, Sherlock made his way back to where John was waiting and the ex-army doctor took the time to take in the man’s new set of clothes. Gone were the well-worn jeans and grey casual shirt. Instead, Sherlock wore a pressed black suit with a white oxford shirt underneath, topped off with a long, dark tailored coat, and a soft looking blue scarf wrapped around his neck. The moustache he’d seen the other man sport the past few weeks was also gone, giving the man an overall cleaner look.

“Shall we?” Sherlock called his attention once he reached John’s side, a gloved hand motioning to the path they should take. 

“Yea- hang on.” John said, looking around. “Where’s Toby?” 

“Ah. He went to fetch something you left behind during your heroic mad dash to save the day.” Sherlock said with a slight upward quirk of his lips as he tilted his head towards the dog happily making his way towards the pair, John’s cane once more grasped between Toby’s teeth. 

“Good boy, Toby.” John said with a grin, leaning down to bestow pats and rubs of affection on the canine, swearing he heard Sherlock mumble ‘told you your therapist was useless.’ under his breath.

“So, you’re a consulting detective.” John said later on as he, Sherlock and Toby made their way out of the park. 

“Yes, when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.” 

“Not a mystery writer then, Mr. Hudson?” That earned a chuckle from Sherlock. 

“No, that’s terribly dull compared to solving real cases, wouldn’t you say? And it’s Holmes.” 

“Pardon?” John glanced at Sherlock as they neared the entrance. 

“My surname. It’s not Hudson. It’s Holmes.” 

“Ah. And here I thought you were just a crap writer because I couldn’t find any books penned by a ‘Sherlock Hudson’.” 

Sherlock slowed to a stop, making John and Toby pause and turn towards him too. “You tried to look up my books?” 

“Supposed books, yes.” John said with a casual shrug. “Figured if we ever ran out of things to talk about, I could at least say I read one.” 

“Ah. Too bad you didn’t get to read any of my supposed work then. I’m sure you would have enjoyed a good read.” 

John shrugged. “Yes. But that’d be terribly dull compared to solving real cases, now wouldn’t it?” 

Sherlock looked at John and felt a smile tug at a corner of his lips. 

“Dinner?” Sherlock asked after a beat. 

“Starving.” John replied with a ready smile. 

\--

Turns out, Toby _wasn’t_ Sherlock’s dog after all. 

He belonged to a Mr. Sherman, one of the many individuals that Sherlock has helped out in his previous adventures. The consulting detective needed a reason to be at the park at varying hours of the day to observe any would-be attackers and taking a dog out for his daily exercise acted as a legitimate excuse.

Once they’ve dropped off the tired canine at Mr. Sherman’s doorstep, Sherlock took John to a Chinese restaurant he swore had the best dim sum and where he could always predict the fortune cookies – almost can anyway. 

“Wait. The wedding band was a fake too?” John asked as they walked from the Chinese place down Baker Street. “Why ever for?” 

“After my first day out at the park, I realized that a single male with a dog was as close to a single female magnet as any. I was offered fifteen different women’s phone numbers that day; you’d think they’d be more cautious with a serial rapist and murderer around. It’s not at all conducive to observing and predicting the killer’s behaviour when one is busy fending off persistent distractions. The wedding band provided a neat and elegant solution.” 

“What about Mrs. Hudson? Is she made up? I’m pretty sure those biscuits I had weren’t a figment of my imagination.” 

Sherlock gave a snort. “No John. Mrs. Hudson is my landlady and although not my wife, she did make me a batch of her biscuits to bring along. I don’t approve of any unnecessary distractions while I’m on a case, food being one of them, but she insisted.” 

“Ah. Since the case is over, you can probably call one of the girls who gave you her number and ask her out. Might get a girlfriend out of this if you play your cards right.” John suggested with a slight teasing tone. 

“Mmm no. I threw the numbers out. Women. Not really my area.”

Sherlock stopped just as they reached 221B Baker Street, turning around to categorise the expressions on John’s face – a mix of surprise, curiosity, acceptance, and, was that a hint of _interest_? Sherlock was not expecting that one at all. 

“This must be you then.” John said, motioning to the front door after a few more moments of silence between them. Sherlock confirmed it with a nod.

“I… should probably go. It’s late and I’ve a long commute.” John said sheepishly, pointing in the general direction of his temporary living. 

“John.” Sherlock had called out before he could think it through. 

“I’ve got some tea upstairs, if you’d –.” 

Sherlock hadn’t even finished offering before John had closed the distance between them, replying with a very enthusiastic “Oh God yes.”

\--

They never did end up putting a kettle on the stove since, the moment they reached the second floor, Sherlock manoeuvred John back into his bedroom. Their lips stayed latched onto one another, not wanting to part for longer that a moment. 

Sherlock pinned John up against his closed door before lodging a thigh between the doctor’s legs. He slowly but firmly rubbed his thigh against John’s groin, causing the other man to pull away in the middle of a kiss to let out a moan. This gave Sherlock access to the smaller man’s nape and he proceeded to lick and nip at the exposed part. John continued to rut against Sherlock as he pushed his fingers into the detective’s dark curls, carding his fingers through them for encouragement. 

They only parted long enough to divest themselves of clothes before Sherlock was pushing John back onto the bed, feeling John shiver against the cool sheets as he trapped the doctor beneath him.

“Left shoulder.” Sherlock whispered, brushing his lips over the wound as he spoke. “I thought so.”

“No you didn’t.” John gave a breathy chuckle as he nudged Sherlock to get on with it. 

Sherlock, lying on top of John since he didn’t want to break contact, reached for his bedside drawer and rifled through it, cursing when he couldn’t find what he was looking for in there. Leaning over the side of his bed, he searched the messy floor in the hope that it may have fallen off in the vicinity. He wasn’t expecting the teasing swipe of a thumb against the tip of his hard and sensitive cock though which caused him to jerk his head, thumping it against the still opened drawer. 

“Sorry. Sorry.” John giggled, soothing the detective’s bruised scalp with calming strokes when Sherlock came back up to glare at him. 

“John,” Sherlock started, unsure how to broach the subject that he was out of rubbers. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“It’s fine, Sherlock.” John said with a gentle smile. “It’s all fine.” 

Taking the detective’s hand in his own, John brought the slender appendage to his lips and licked a broad, wet stripe from the heel of Sherlock’s palm to the tip of his middle finger. Sherlock shuddered as John twirled his tongue over the digit before nibbling the top playfully. John then guided the hand southwards, to which Sherlock responds by curling his fingers around their heated shafts and giving a long, slow stroke upwards.

The sounds John made as Sherlock rubbed their lengths together was distracting enough without the doctor rutting up to meet his strokes so Sherlock, in retaliation, pressed his thumb against the slit of John’s member. There was no warning other than John arching up against him before the doctor was coming, thickly coating Sherlock’s hand, their cocks and stomach. 

“Sorry. It’s just. It’s been a while.” John panted out, his cheeks tinting in embarrassment as he reached between them to grasp Sherlock’s length, hoping to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation by refocusing Sherlock’s attention away from what just happened. With a few firm strokes, the movement eased by John’s come, Sherlock was following suit, panting out into John’s ear when he flopped on top of the doctor that it’s been a while for him too. 

\--

They lay languidly pressed together after a quick cleanup, John with an arm draped over Sherlock’s waist as he began to slowly drift off.

“You should move in.” 

John snapped awake. 

“Uhm, Sherlock,” John propped himself up on an elbow to look at Sherlock, because damn if he was having this conversation cuddled against the man’s chest. “Isn’t it a little too soon to ask me to move in with you?”

“What? No. Not like that. The upstairs bedroom is available. I’m looking for a flatmate and so are you. I think you should move in. It’s a nice place in central London and together we could afford it.” Sherlock reasoned.

“Who said anything about flatmates?” John asked because he was certain that he had never mentioned he was looking to flatshare in any of their previous interactions.

“Newspaper.” Sherlock supplied. “The other day when you were reading that article about those serial killings, I noticed the classifieds had your notes on potential flatmate postings. It was no difficult leap.” 

“You. Are amazing.” John said with a smile, mirth reaching his eyes as stared down at the other male.

“You really think so?” Sherlock said, fishing for more compliments. John just chuckled, flopping back down onto the bed beside the taller man. 

“Mrs. Hudson’s rates are reasonable.” Sherlock said softly as they both settled under the covers. “And she really does make excellent biscuits.” The detective added with a yawn. 

Well! That settles it. John can’t very well say no to those biscuits. 

-end-


End file.
